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red wine

Flash back a few days to me scrolling aimlessly through Facebook. My attention was caught by a sweepstakes to win a designer wedding gown, and not just any designer, but Monique Lhuillier, for the love of all things white and lacy. Of course I clicked the link to enter, and I realized that all I had to do was start a wedding registry with what happened to be one of my favorite home-good stores, and I was in the running for my dream gown. (Mind you, I couldn’t currently tell you the name of a specific Monique silhouette that I love, but that is beside the point. I have never won anything; this just seemed like a great way to avoid homework. There, I said it).

Seeing as Paul and I are at about the time frame when we need to start a registry, I figured, “why the hell not?”, “How hard could it be?” I thought, as I dove into casual dining collections, bakeware and cookware, cutlery, and bathroom essentials. Not going to lie… three or four pages in I started to freak out and found myself reaching repeatedly for my glass of wine. Did we really need new measuring cups? What about fine china? How many place settings? I HATE gravy! Will I ever need a gravy bowl? Where do I even start?

“Start with what you know” I found my own PR voice in my head whispering as I tapped a finger on my wine glass.

On my wine glass…

It was so simple…

I clicked on “glassware” and went straight to the wine glasses. I may not know if I need fine china, but I know for sure exactly what I DO need:

Olivia Pope wine glasses. Wine. Solves. Everything.

Many people seem to think that getting married is some sort of gateway into adulthood. False, my friends. In fact, I feel less like an adult, because I have someone else who is technically responsible for my well being. Guess who is going to make sure I make it to the end of the day alive? My hubs. Not that I am taking this as an excuse to be reckless, but the immature side of me feels like now I have a tag team member to be twice as immature with.

Just because I am getting married does not mean that I know how many place settings I am going to need or what all those insane torture devices are in the baking section of Bed Bath and Beyond. I haven’t grown up; it just means that I have found someone who legally wants to be bound to my childlike ways.

I am hoping I don’t feel like this if we ever have a child. Like “hey, we added a third member to our idiot mob!”

In the mean time, let it be known that the first thing that I registered for were red wine glasses, a la Olivia Pope… followed by champagne flutes. Eight of each, because that just sounded good.

I can grow up next year 🙂 And I will ask Paul about the gravy boat. He likes gravy.